


Convolution

by voids



Category: Dark Souls (Video Games)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-16
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-09-24 22:00:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9788993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voids/pseuds/voids
Summary: Series of drabbles in the Dark Souls universe.





	1. Wound

**Author's Note:**

> This is an exercice to force me to write at least a bit every day. I'll be updating the tags as it goes.  
> Expect anything.
> 
> Beginning with Ornstein/Nameless King.

He didn’t know what fear was. He had grown so used to having nothing to lose, nothing of worth than his own might, that when the traitorous knife cut his wrist and blood soon covered the grass, he could only laugh in bemusement at his own stupidity. 

_Fool!_

Then, he heard the sound of a helmet hitting the ground. The gold-clad knight fell on his knees , and by the lords,  _his_ shaking hands were cold when they took over his own, and  _his_ eyes were full of concern as _he_  examined the cut thoroughly, and he  knew that, should he ever disappear from this earth,  _ he _ would lose something of worth.

_ “Hold on, my Lord. There’s still Estus left…” _

And he couldn’t allow that to happen.


	2. The cub

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Artorias' POV

Artorias followed the howling sound through a moonlit glade. It was higher pitched than how most adult great wolves sounded like, but that wasn’t what had really startled the knight, no. It had been thereafter: a loud whimper of pain that could freeze one’s blood, and the horrifying chain of growls and fangs digging into flesh and ripping it apart with such ferocity even the sheer endurance of his shield wouldn’t last long might it encounter the same fate.

Up there in the trees, Alvina meowed. “Careful, brave knight. You may perish.” She reminded him.

Artorias’ heart jolted. He had thought of the beast being huge, but he hadn’t had any clue it would tower over him like that.

Its mouth was stained, a putrefactive smell coming out of it. Besides it, the dead wolf was a mangled pile of intestines and fur laying on the ground, and a small pup looked desperately for shelter under the mother’s useless tail.

“Get away from it, I said!” Artorias barked at the beast.

When it turned to face him, Artorias took a step back. The animal, or what remained of it, had no eyes; instead, there was a pit of nothingness, and foggy black threads of dark came out of them and intertwined together.

They were as dark as the abyss.

Artorias _understood_.

It was not its fault. How could it be? How could it know that what its fangs had brutally teared was its own kind? Did it recognize the cub as its? No, of course it didn’t.

Its claws hit a vulnerable spot under Artorias’ ribs, but before he could know of the blood spreading and staining his armor, his sword had firmly dug into the corrupted beast’s skull.  

Artorias crawled to check on the young wolf, his arm pressed against his ribs as he tried to endure the excruciable pain. When he reached out to touch it, the cub shivered and hesitated.

“I am your friend. You see? You’re safe.”

The wolf allowed one temptative rub under its ear, coming from its hideout when Artorias showed no signs of threat. No. He would never… How could he…?

“Hello, Sif.” He said joyfully. 

But soon after, the knight blacked out.

 


	3. Canvas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ashen One's POV

“I wish to paint a picture.” Said the painter, sat on top of a wooden folding ladder, her red lizard eyes focusing on the huge empty canvas before her.

“Of a cold, dark, and very gentle place.”

Ashen One said nothing, for the painter’s voice was soothing. But deep inside, a spike of bitterness still persisted, and this world where she had ended up in, had nothing gentle at all.

“One day, it will make someone a goodly home.”

Light was flickering through the stained glass, a peaceful contrast to the living hell only a few floors beneath. This was as close to heaven as she would ever be. The wooden floor cracked under Ashen’s feet as she sat down, pulling her helmet off and revealing the burns in her pale cheeks.

“That’s why I must see flame.”

The painter’s hands reached out to hover over the canvas, and Ashen One closed her eyes. 

Flame could wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having trouble with Friede and Ariandel, so this happened.


	4. Thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ornstein x Nameless King

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by a pic [barasbu](http://barasbu.tumblr.com/) drew. Most of the dialogue is by them.

Dawn is far from breaking, but Gwyn’s first son is fully awake and sprawled across his bed. Yet he’s not alone. The dragon slayer is a warm bundle against him, fitting perfectly into the space between his arms and breathing at a regular pace. He’s asleep, yet the young lord can feel him stir every now and then and he knows it’s one of two: either he’s dreaming again, or it won’t be long before sly hands wander beneath the sheets and long fingers close around his cock, very conscious and awake, indeed.

Nails drag across his spine, and Ornstein mumbles something unintelligible into his skin and it _tickles_ , and gods help the heir, for it’s bordering on ridiculous how his heart, which is known for its toughness and unattainability, softens whenever the knight is on his most vulnerable, snuggled up against him in a messy position that should ache.

The young lord is many things: fearful, powerful. Brutal and merciless in battle. One needs creativity to be successful in a fight, and he doesn’t lack it. But he can also become imaginative when he wants to. And the sight of Ornstein cuddled up with him sends him thoughts of a future away from Lordran, somewhere where they don’t need to be discreet about their relationship, and other things. He’s formulated the thought many times, both in his mind and out loud, but he’s never come off with a satisfactory answer. He tries again, anxious even though he can’t help himself, for he’s a weak man when the lion knight is the meat of the matter and the cause of everything he’s feeling and yearning for.

“Ornstein?”

“Hm?”

“We don’t have to do this.” He means it, he knows he does.

Silence. He doubts he has been heard at all.

“We can run off together.” He clarifies with a spike of hope in his voice.

He hears a soft chuckle, and it stuns him how beautiful he sounds. Being the first one awake so he can witness all of this it’s worth for all it takes.

Then, Ornstein is sitting up to face him, and the firstborn is open mouthed when he sights on his hair, out of his usual groomed style and messily covering part of his drowsy eyes. Gods help him for how gorgeous he looks…

Ornstein exhales loudly, and confronts him:

“Nearly every night I spend here you have been bringing this up.” Ornstein tells. He sounds hoarse from a long night sleep. “For months, you do this. It’s foolish, you know? We can’t leave.” He assures, almost amused.

Though the heir’s expression changes because this is not what he wants to hear from the one he so hopelessly fell for, so he leans up with his elbows upon the mattress and nuzzles Ornstein’s neck, allowing himself to be vulnerable in front of him as well, one more time, so he can get to change the fellow knight’s mind.

“We can, my love.” He whispers, and his voice comes out as a broken plea. “I’ve been… thinking. We can forget about this, all of it. Start planning—”

Warm lips shut him up, but the kiss is brief. It leaves the firstborn with a dull ache in his chest.

After they part, Ornstein is firmer when he speaks:

“Our place is here. Even if we left, we would be found. And you can imagine the consequences…” He indicates like it’s also hard for him to admit it. His fingers idly toy with the heir’s chest fuzz. “Besides, what would make you wish to run off from Lordran, all of a sudden?”

The lord gasps. He’s brought up this conversation times before. But foolishly enough, he hadn’t seen this particular question coming, eventually. Ornstein waits, body flushed against his, and so _fucking_ breathtaking, damn him.

“I just want a place where we can have a relationship without boundaries. You, me, and—”

“ _—and the dragons”_ , he doesn’t say.

Ornstein shoots him a quizzical look.

“And?”

The heir rolls his eyes, because damn his insecurity, for it will be the damnation of everything he’s ever wanted.

By the lords! Why is this so damn hard for him?

“And our mutual affection.” He finishes with a smile. Better telling half of the truth, perhaps.

Ornstein scrutinizes him like he’s reading him, which to be entirely honest, he does, most times; and he’s doing that pouty thing with his lower lip the firstborn so bloody adores. He hates himself for his only wish being just to kiss his mouth and shut him up from asking bloody questions he fears their answers would be unwelcome.

“Of course.” Ornstein mutters. “In my dreams I see us, as well. But you always die and I have to live with the awareness that you don’t exist anymore.”

And this is everything it takes for the young lord from leaning forward, to capture the knight’s lower lip with his and pull it just the slightest, to earn that soft moan in his throat that will cause heat to pool down and deep. His heart is hammering furiously, angry and yet so ravaged with tenderness.

“Neither of us will die, you fool. And dreams, let them be dreams.”

“As you said it: let dreams be just dreams.”

It’s silly and soppy, really. But this is what they agreed for when they started this. And in the end, they both laugh.

They still have time before dawn breaks up.


	5. The final blow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Irina x Eygon
> 
> Enjoy.

“Oh, you again.” The nun’s realization is a trembling relief, an old friend that makes the Morne knight’s chest fill with an aching reminiscence of a long lost past. “Touch me, one last time. And kill me, as you promised you would.”

He can’t grasp the cruelty of the words she’s saying. But it was him who sworn he would endure the task of attending her, even such a request. It seems simple. Just crushing her bones and her heart will  become a pool of blood amongst mangled flesh, until it pulverizes to ash. Warm ash covering the stone ground, slipping from his murderous fingers…

It seems too simple.

She falls into silence, whilst his thoughts speak as loudly as possible, and his hand closes firmly around the handle of his hammer. He reaches out with his other hand and makes contact with her shoulder; a broken sigh leaves her lips.

“Sir Eygon. So glad you’re here.”

He isn’t.

 

* * *

 

_“I’ve always wondered what an armadillo actually looks like.” Irina says in an amused tone._

_“Hm. Weird enough. They are basically stuffed armored rats.”_

_The maiden laughs, and her elbow hits the knight on the arm. Eygon smiles. “Oh, so they are like you?”_

_Eygon darts her an offended look. “What? Do you think I look like a rat?”_

_Her mirth only increases at his offence. “That I don’t, but you really come off as a very stuffed gruffy man.”_

_He blinks at her as her smile grows wider. He doesn’t know of a retaliation, so he shrugs, and then, buries his face into her neck, where her smell lingers even stronger. Her hands find his hair and her fingers pull it slightly, and the knight exhales loudly, savouring this moment of peace, for as long as he can._

_“I’m so glad you’re here.” Irina whispers before pressing her lips onto his temple._

_Eygon pulls her closer in return._

 

* * *

 

“You said you would kill me, didn’t you? Then why are you waiting? What’s become of me? I am so sorry…”

She drops her head in embarrassment and misery, hiding her face from him. Tears are falling down her cheeks and he does nothing. If he were younger, he would kneel and wrap his arms around her petite body, not by his duty as her protector, but as someone who cares and cares to make things right. He is not fond of the person he’s become, but neither is she. He doubts who of both has turned into a greater calamity.

He removes his hand from her shoulder, and she begins to tremble. She looks pathetic. He hates it.

He raises his hammer as high as he’s able to. He knows she cannot see him, but she’s started to sob with more despair now, and he thinks the noise she makes is what sinners listen to when they die. He wants it to stop.

Eygon is ready to execute the final blow. 

 

“I - love you…”

  
Eygon wished Irina would never dare to say these words again. But she has.

And his hands shake.


End file.
